Dream
by linktopus
Summary: "And I like you, but I don't know why. I couldn't explain just how I feel inside. And it's okay, let's just keep it this way. As long as you know, I won't forget you again." "Dream" - Jim and the Povolos Francis confronts his feelings for Arthur Kirkland, after seeing him in his dreams for the third night in a row, and does something about it.


Twenty-five years. It has been twenty-five years since Francis has even heard mention of the Brit. And yet, as he lays in bed, wide awake, cold and sweaty, somehow Arthur had made his way into his dream for the third time this week.

He had to admit, the first time was a bit surprising and out-of-the-blue. He was just having a peaceful dream, sitting in a café, like usual. He heard the ring of the bell on the door of the café, and felt the cool mid autumn air on his neck as it blew his hair to the left. He turned around to face the door. He nearly dropped his coffée when he saw the messy short blonde-haired man at the counter ordering Earl Grey tea. After all, this is Francis' dream, so why is he here. He hasn't heard even a whisper about the man for the longest time. Suddenly, Francis awoke, greeted by the sun peaking through his silk dark red curtains. His heart was beating fast but brushed off the dream and proceeded with his everyday life.

The second time made him very curious. Francis was sitting in the park, listening to quiet music playing in the background as he watched parents and their kids play together. He found strange bliss within these types of dreams, the ones that don't have major commotion. He heard a husky cough to the left, and turned his head towards the noise. Again, he saw Arthur coming up the path to the park. Although, this time he looked different. He wasn't wearing an old red coat like in the last dream, no. He was wearing a nice, clean trenchcoat, a drained-green sweater and a pair of slim, brown jeans that suited him quite nicely in the autumn weather. Francis ignored it when his heart skipped a beat, pretending like he didn't notice. He acted like he didn't realize that Arthur's eyes shimmered, a mixture of gold and orange lining the outside rim of the iris and light grey swirls surrounding his pupil, and brushed off how his face looked nicer and his skin looked softer and- he woke up with a unsatisfied feeling in his gut and a million questions in his head.

But this time, he was just plain annoyed. _Why was this happening? _He asked himself as he awoke again, the same situation as the past two nights. He dragged his hands down his face and let out a groan. He leaned his head on his bed's backboard and let out a sigh. He was frustrated. Then, a sudden thought stuck out above the rest. Why was he isolating himself from Arthur?

He thought back to the night before he escaped Arthur.

It was a world meeting, but not like the usual ones. This one was special; this one was Alfred's birthday. Naturally, he insisted on a party; and a huge one at that. The house was lit up with white lights that made the warm summer evening looking dazzling. The party was fine, idle chatter and snacks, what should be expected at a party, but something felt out of place. Then he realized, he hasn't seen Arthur all night, or all day, as a matter of fact. Francis checked near the alcohol, wanting to bother him about his alcohol habits, but he was nowhere to be found. Francis started to get worried, listing the possible places where he could be when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He jumped and turned around to see the smiling birthday boy in front of him.

"Looking for someone?" Alfred smirked as he took his hand of the man's shoulder.

"What? Oh no." Francis laughed as he tried to hide his previous worried expression. Alfred leaned in closer to him.

"Arthur will be here in a minute, relax. He's just getting ready." He whispered and backed away.

"What makes you think I wanna see him?" Francis scoffs as Alfred smiles and shrugs.

"There he is now." Alfred points toward the open gates and disappeared into the crowd.

Francis turns towards the gates and felt his stomach drop as Arthur walks into the party. His black polo shirt and dark brown jeans were not too casual and not too formal and all the more made Francis' heart skip a beat as Arthur smiled and talked with others. Arthur's messy hair made Francis mad but all the more made him want to run his hands through it, carefully taking out tangles. His eyes looked as they always did, but something was different about them; maybe the lighting or what Arthur was wearing, but they looked stunning either way, and that made Francis flustered. But, as it may be, Francis couldn't help but blush a little. He heard snickering from behind as he whipped around to see Alfred and Matthew giggling at him. He scowled at them as they turn away. Francis looked at the floor and decided the best thing to do was to let this blow over and drink some wine, so he headed towards the alcohol as his brain was pounding away with so many thoughts. He quietly exhaled through his nose and grabbed a glass of wine.

"Who has the alcohol problem now?" He heard a snarky accent-coated voice say from behind him. He turned around to see the last person he wanted to talk to right now; the british bastard himself.

"You know, if you were here a couple minutes before, that would've been my line." Francis smirks as Arthur rolls his eyes and grabs a cup of liquor.

"For your information, _frog_," Arthur grinds his teeth. "I have much better things to do than be here but-"

"C'est la vie?" Francis interrupted. Arthur glared at him, going to slap him but ended up just rolling his eyes and sighing. Francis swallowed the fluttery feeling in his stomach.

"Why do I even try making civil conversation with you." Arthur mumbles to himself. He blows his short bangs out of his eyes.

"Don't act like it's all _my_ fault, cher. You're the one who can't keep conversation without looking angry." Francis says. Arthur snarls at him and turns away, drinking the liquor. As Arthur's back is turned towards him, he lets out a small smile.

The rest of the night was a blur. Useless conversations he couldn't remember nor cared too, but there was one thing he tried to forget. In a barely intoxicated conversation, he made him laugh. And smile, and snort. It stopped Francis in his tracks. It's what took him over the edge, hearing Arthur not laughing _at_ him, but _with _him. Even if Arthur was slightly drunk, it still struck something inside of him. He needed to get away from Arthur, as far as possible so this feeling didn't evolve into something greater. He _especially _wouldn't let it happen with him. They were called enemies for a reason, because they hated each other.. right? They have always been rivals, for as long as Francis could remember. But, did he ever really hate him? Sure he hated the things he _did_, but… did he hate him as a person? No. He had to stop himself. So he cut off all contact with him, wouldn't even speak of him, and it worked; for twenty-five years at least.

A bang on his front door made him snap back to reality. He jumped off his bed and headed downstairs, still a bit groggy, and found a heap of mail pushed through the mail slot. He picked the pile up and looked at the envelopes. _Bill, Junk Mail, more Junk Mail, even more Junk Mail, and- oh, what's this? _He says to himself as he examines the red envelope in his hands.

The scribbled handwriting on the back reads 'You're Invited!'. Judging by the penmanship, he guessed it's Alfred's. He flips it over and tears the sticker hold the flap closed and opens the envelope and grabs the card inside. The one-sided card feels rough but looks very nice, he highly doubts Alfred picked it, it's not his style. The front of the card says 'Please join us as we celebrate the 5th wedding anniversary of Alfred F. Jones and Ivan Braginsky on the 7th of September 2014'. _Oh that explains why it looks so nice_. He had almost completely forgotten that they were married, let alone for 5 years. But, nevertheless, he wanted to go so he responded and cleared his schedule.

The seventh was a beautiful day, weather not too cold and most leaves still attached to their rightful trees. Francis was dressed up very dashingly in a black tuxedo and a black bow tie for formality. He was casually chatting with Elizabeta by the flower garden, talking about neighbours and such when she looked over his shoulder.

"Speaking of neighbours." She says as she smirks and walks away, leaving him alone on the balcony. Francis turns around to see Arthur walking towards him. Francis' heart was rapidly beating against his chest as he started to get nervous again. His knees started buckling as Arthur got closer and closer and- wait. Arthur's face had sort of a pinkish tint to it, he- he was blushing. Arthur approached Francis and shot a quick, small smile at him.

"Where have you been, you bloody git." Arthur says, straight-faced now.

"Ah, you know, doing _things_." Francis said, refusing to make eye contact. Arthur rolled his eyes as he mumbled a _mhm_ and brushed the bangs out of his face.

"It's been a long time." Arthur said, under his breath. Francis chuckled

"Yeah, it has hasn't it? I can't believe I ran into you again" He said with a pause. "I was just thinking, we-" Francis was having trouble finding the words. He wasn't sure how he felt, so he didn't know how to tell him, tell him that there was a reason he was avoiding him all these years. Tell him that it was because he was scared of loving; scared of loving him. Scared of it growing into that. Scared of having him always with him and hearing his soothing laugh when Francis would make a joke Arthur liked for once. Scared of waking up and seeing him lying next to him on a Sunday morning. Scared of cuddling with him during a movie and holding him when he was scared. But most of all, scared that he would wake up, after all that, and he would be gone. Scared of Arthur saying he didn't love him and them going back to the centuries of rivalry. but, nevertheless, Francis loves him. He loves him, and frankly, doesn't know why. He had always told himself he could do better but there's something about his grumpiness and his accent that keeps him here.

"I ran away because I didn't know what else to do." Francis admitted. Arthur looked surprised about the answer he got. He had to say everything, to let him know. "Do you remember, twenty-five years ago when Alfred had his big party? Everything that happened that night I just- it stuck. I think it's because you actually smiled at me." He says with a chuckle. Arthur's blush goes darker. "But, you were intoxicated, so it shouldn't have meant anything. _Mais_.." Francis says, leaning on the balcony ledge. "It did. And, I don't know, it just struck something inside of me and I realized I.." He took a deep breath and sighed. _Why is it so difficult to say this when I've said it so many times? Maybe it's because this time I mean it. Ah, merde_. "I-I like you, and frankly I don't know why. I really couldn't explain how I feel inside." Francis said, blushing bright red and refusing to even look in his direction. "Because I hate you, nevertheless, and-"

"Are you being honest?" He heard Arthur say, making him look Arthur in the eyes. Evidently, that made both blush more.

"Yes; and I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left, and kept you so far away." He sighs as he tilts his head to the left. "You've been appearing in my dreams for the past few nights and I missed you, even with bickering."

"Well," Arthur saying as he hesitantly steps forwards. Both hearts skip a beat as they become face-to-face with each other. "I do remember that night. The only reason I drank a bit that night is because talking to you made me very nervous because you're hideous hair was in a pretty ponytail and you're stupid clothing was replaced by even more stupid clothing that looked very nice on you." Arthur said, glancing to the right. He wouldn't have heard that if Arthur wasn't so close. Arthur faced at him again.

"So the feeling's mutual then." Francis smirked as he teased. Arthur glared at him as he leaned in and gave him his answer.


End file.
